Five
by peanutbutterer
Summary: Responses to various 5 Things prompts. Mostly JohnElizabeth.
1. John Touches Elizabeth

Five Times John Touches Elizabeth

--1

"John," Elizabeth says in the tone she usually reserves for his rank, "I really do need to work now." She taps her knuckles on a large stack of reports that sits to her right.

He makes no move to detach himself from her desk. "Elizabeth, it's Saturday."

She cracks an indulgent smile. "In the three years we've been in Atlantis have we ever recognized weekends?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "You're making my case for me," he counters, sounding pleased with himself.

"John -"

He cuts her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You need a break, Elizabeth. We all do. Just put the," he reaches across her desk and grabs the top file, flipping it open and reading the heading, "'Current Fiscal Allocations within the Science Departments and Their Obvious Implications of Favoritism' aside and come with me to the mainland." He closes the folder and taps it on the desk. "The marines said the Athosians have set up an archery range. I bet you're a natural."

She rolls her eyes and reaches for the file. "John, as much as I appreciate the offer, these things need to be taken care of."

"This can wait," he insists, tugging on the folder like a petulant child. "You need a break."

Elizabeth narrows her eyes to a glare but John holds fast. "Give me back the file, John." She's beginning to sound exasperated.

"Only if you agree to put it aside."

"John," she tries again, yanking harder. "You're being an - ouch," she hisses and jerks her hand away.

"What happened?" he asks, immediately concerned. He slides off her desk and skirts around to her side. "You okay?"

"Fine," she says sharply, examining her finger, "just a paper cut." She sticks the wounded digit in her mouth and John fights the urge to smile at the picture.

"Band-Aids?" he asks and she nods to her drawer. He rifles through it and finds a box in the back. He settles himself on the desk in front of her before holding out his hand expectantly, palm up.

He can tell she's trying not to roll her eyes as she removes her finger to speak. "I don't need medical attention."

John says nothing but leaves his hand where it is. Elizabeth glares at him again before sighing in defeat and dropping her hand into his.

"You realize what this means, of course," he states matter-of-factly as he places the bandage over her cut.

"That I'm working with a four year old?" she supplies with a sly grin.

He continues as if she hadn't spoken, "That you need to take the rest of the day off."

Her eyes narrow with mock suspicion. "Oh, I do?"

He nods.

"Because I'm injured?" she guesses.

"Because you're injured," he affirms, securing the adhesive. Her hand is warm in his and he finds he's unable to let go right away. Instead, almost experimentally, he tightens his grip then loosens it, brushing his thumb carefully along the line of her palm.

He doesn't raise his head to look at her. "Elizabeth," he says in his most serious tone, "come with me."

When he finally meets her eyes she turns her hand over in his and squeezes gently, gracing him with the slightest of smiles. "It is Saturday."

--2

"Holy shit a talking muffin!" Lorne exclaims dramatically, causing Elizabeth to burst into laughter and nearly lose her precarious footing.

"That's it?" Rodney asks in disbelief from his place on the sideline. "That's the funniest joke you've ever heard?"

Elizabeth's laughter finally dies down sufficiently for her to speak and she twists to look up at Rodney. "It was certainly funnier than yours."

"Please," he scoffs, draining the last of his beer before flicking the spinner forcefully. "Mine was much funnier. Left foot yellow."

Elizabeth complies immediately and both Ronon and Lorne follow suit. John hesitates a moment. The only available space is about six inches further than he's thinks he's capable of stretching.

"Next time we order 'entertainment' to be shipped to us, we ought to be more specific," Rodney advises the four hopelessly tangled participants. "I was anticipating something more along the lines of DVDs or a PlayStation."

"Seriously?" John asks, his left foot hovering above the mat. "Yellow?" He glances down and catches sight of Elizabeth's bare feet. She's wearing a toe ring and he finds it incredibly distracting.

Rodney nods briskly and twists off the cap of another beer. "Yellow. Canary. Lemon. Amarillo for our Spanish speaking friends."

"McKay?" John drawls absently, his brow furrowing in concentration.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

The major laughs and John extends to his full length, slipping his leg under Ronon's. He already has the other under Lorne.

Rodney spins again. "Right hand red."

Ronon's advantage is glaringly obvious as he reaches his long arm across the mat and rests it easily on a red circle. Lorne struggles slightly, but manages to land in place without toppling. John snakes his hand around his own leg and puts his palm down clumsily. Elizabeth manages to wind her way under Ronon, past one of Lorne's legs and between John's arms to reach her target, stopping halfway to grab her beer and take a pull before dropping her hand to the mat.

"Ma'am," Lorne says with touch of awe, "you're impressively bendy."

Elizabeth beams.

"Teyla is even bendier," Ronon interjects knowingly. In response to raised eyebrows he only shrugs.

John wonders at how he manages the feat while his body is twisted like a pretzel.

"Left hand green," Rodney instructs.

John's not entirely sure how or when Elizabeth ended up underneath him, spread out on all fours with her back to the mat, but he's suddenly very aware of it. She waggles her eyebrows in challenge and he smiles gamely before reaching across her for the green circle, bringing his left hand to rest to her immediate right. As his palm hits the mat his chest brushes lightly against hers. Her features are flushed from alcohol and he's almost certain he can feel the ghost of her breath on his cheek. A small smile escapes before he can stop it and he struggles not to tilt his face ever so slightly to press his nose into the spot of negative space between her shoulder and her neck. He's always liked that spot. Rodney calls out the next move but the only thing John can hear clearly is the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.

Whatever Rodney's instructions were, they've caused Lorne and Ronon to pitch forward into John and he can't maintain his balance. In a last ditch effort to maintain his equilibrium, John throws his arms around Elizabeth's waist, eliciting squeal a as he twists and drags her down on top of him in a fit of laughter.

Of its own accord, his hand clutches at the curve of her waist and his fingers clench reflexively.

--3

The deafening sound of C4 exploding pulses through the narrow hallway. Heat flares, nipping at their heels and pressing against their backs. Through the comm link Major Lorne's voice shouts that they have a little under two minutes before there will be no way out.

His feet push harder against the cement, propelling him forward and into the haze.

"There," Ronon grunts through heavy breaths, nodding his head to the left. His blaster makes quick work of the lock. As John pushes past the bars he feels like his heart has been ripped from his chest and shoved back down his throat.

Elizabeth is huddled in the back corner of the small cell, bound, gagged and wild-eyed. Blood cakes her face, tangling with dirt and mud to stain her blanched features.

"Elizabeth," he breathes as he crouches down and begins to work at her bindings. He's afraid to ask if she's all right. Afraid to hear her voice. Afraid of what she might say.

He removes the cloth from her mouth and his name cracks as she utters it, painfully small and faint.

The last seven weeks have been the worst form of hell – not knowing where she was or what was happening to her. His mind has been offering horrible, gut-wrenching possibilities. Now he believes every one of them.

She repeats his name and bile rises from his gut, its nauseating wave threatening to envelop him completely.

"We need to get you out of here," he tells her as Lorne's countdown echoes in his ear. He nods to Ronon, who scoops up her feeble form with a warrior's grace.

Silent tears well in her eyes and cause another surge of guilt to sluice down his spine. _You did this to her_, he reminds himself. _This is your fault._

He covers her hand where it rests on Ronon's broad shoulder and squeezes once before diving back toward the flames. As she buries her head in Ronon's chest he forces himself to memorize the cold of her skin, the fleeting look of betrayal that even the most disciplined negotiator couldn't hide.

John vows he will never make the same mistake again.

--4

John steps up behind Elizabeth and pauses to drink in the evening. Before him the night sky blankets the mainland, its brilliance rivaled only by the smiles of the revelers dancing by firelight. He breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of wood smoke and ocean and magic. Even here, music finds its way to his ears – dissonant and unfamiliar while paradoxically heartwarming. He's never quite become used to Athosian folk songs, finds it hard to isolate the melody. Just one of the many things in this galaxy that remains unreachable.

He can't keep his eyes from drifting to Elizabeth.

"That was unlike anything I've ever seen," he says quietly.

She turns and smiles at him then, her lips quirking slightly at the corners. She eases her shawl back onto her shoulders and looks away. "The Athosians certainly know how to celebrate," she agrees wistfully.

"If this is the engagement party, I'm almost afraid to see the wedding."

She chuckles lightly, the kind of halfhearted laugh one uses when they're not really listening. He'd be hurt if he wasn't already troubled by the distant look he's seen in her eyes all evening.

He studies her, searching for hints in the firelight's shadows. "Something wrong?" he asks, stepping closer. The smell of her shampoo catches in the breeze, teasing his senses with the hint of intimate details he will never truly know.

She shakes her head and secures the material of her wrap more tightly around her arms.

"Elizabeth," he prompts. "Don't you know you can't lie to me?"

She quirks her head toward him and raises an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't," he corrects. "Shouldn't lie to me."

She grins and turns her gaze back to the party. Letting her breath out slowly she nods at the dancers. "Does it ever bother you," she starts, then bites her lip. "Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if we had stayed on Earth?"

He thinks for a minute. "Boring?"

The side of her mouth tilts in a muted half-smile. "I was going more along the lines of stable."

"They aren't synonymous?"

She takes a deep breath and releases it but doesn't speak.

He knows what she means to say – he's felt it too. Especially on nights like this, nights when they celebrate marriages and births. Each time he's reminded of a part of life he isn't afforded the luxury of experiencing. There are times when that doesn't bother him – times when he feels the tremendous pride that comes from calling an entire expedition family. But sometimes, when he lies alone in bed at night, he wishes he could get closer. He wishes that there was a time to just be John and not Colonel Sheppard.

"Would you like to dance?" he asks softly. She turns to look at him, her face washed in light and shadow. She nods hesitantly and he slips his hand into hers, gently tugging her into his arms.

He tucks her body into his and she's warmer and softer than he had ever imagined. The music is a little louder now, the fire a little bigger. Overhead, the stars are beginning to appear. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder, the weight of it somehow exactly what his life has been missing. This is what he wants – to be able to wrap himself around her. This is what he needs.

He pulls her closer.

--5

"So, this one," she points with a dirt caked finger, "is about the second prophesy." Her eyes are wide and bright and she's sitting cross-legged in the soil like a child in a sandbox. She continues talking as she digs, uncovering what's turning out to be a somewhat large pyramid of etched rock.

Really, he should have sent Lieutenant Baker or even Lorne to accompany Elizabeth. The natives were correct in their claim – there is absolutely no indication of danger. He could probably even take his hands off his P90 and actually start helping her dig. But, as he's finally allowed himself to admit, he's a little overprotective when it comes to his expedition leader's safety. (When he makes the confession in his head he always refers to her by her title. It makes him feel a little more justified.)

He doesn't mind the menial task of guard dog. This is especially true when he considers that the alternative is another male spending the better part of a day miles from civilization and alone with Elizabeth. The implications of that thought are somewhat harder to classify as concern for his superior, but he's surprisingly willing to not dwell on that issue.

Elizabeth shifts to her hands and knees in order to get more leverage and uses her fingers to work the earth away from the text she's attempting to translate. As she leans forward a stray curl falls across her face. He watches from his place on the ground beside her as she swipes at it with the back of her wrist – possibly the only part of her not covered in dirt – and it tumbles back down to tickle her nose.

She blows a stream of air from her mouth and sends the offending curl flying, only to have it return to exactly where it had settled before. She tries again with the same result. The look of frustration on her face is so endearing he almost wants to leave it there, but instead he takes pity on her. Reaching for her face, he drops his fingers gently on her forehead and sweeps them across her brow, guiding the wisp of hair from her eyes and tucking it securely behind her ear.

"Better?" he asks as she turns her head toward him.

She nods in response. "Thanks."

It isn't until her hand comes to rest on his that he realizes he hasn't removed it.

Before he even knows what he's doing his lips are on hers. The kiss is sweet and brief – nothing like he's imagined but ten million times better. The taste and feel of her fills his senses, sends blood coursing through his veins, and he wonders if he will ever be able to think of anything other than how many different ways he wants to kiss her.

She pulls back, a soft smile on her lips that quickly turns into outright laughter – not exactly what he wanted her reaction to be.

"Elizabeth?" he questions, her name quieter than he intended.

Her laughing tapers off slowly and she settles into a grin. "Sorry, it's just," she points to his face, "I got you all muddy."

He puts his hand to his cheek and brushes at the soil her hands left behind.

"I guess you'll have to make it up to me," he decides.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "I guess I will."


	2. John Doesn't Understand Elizabeth

Five Times John Doesn't Understand Elizabeth

--1

The sounds of pounding feet and Elizabeth's ragged breathing echo through the corridors.

"Come on, keep up," John chides easily as he checks his watch. "We've only been at this for twenty minutes."

She tips her head toward him and contorts her face in a sort of half-grimace, half-glare. He guesses that, energy allowing, she would have smacked him upside the head.

"Anyway," he says as they round another corner and jog through a doorway leading outside, "I think we should set up a beach volleyball tournament again this year. We deserve a rematch."

Elizabeth merely grunts.

"I know, I know, it wasn't your fault. I'm not blaming you." He runs in place for a moment to allow her time to catch up to him. The wind blowing off the surface of the water turns his sweat cold. "I am blaming McKay though. I mean, really, this time he can be on someone else's team. What grown man squeals and dodges a ball that's coming straight toward him?"

Elizabeth grunts again.

"That's not a very flattering noise," John teases. He tilts his head to gage her reaction and is disappointed to find that she doesn't seem provoked. Her concentration appears to be solely on breathing.

"You're looking a little red there, Lizzie." John turns around until he's jogging backward, a wide grin spread across his face. "Maybe we should do this every day?"

She halts abruptly and puts her hands on her knees, pitching her head forward with great heaving breaths.

"No stopping!" he shouts and jogs toward her, tapping his hand repeatedly on her back. "Gotta move. Gotta keep your heart rate up!"

She reaches an arm out to clutch the railing and raises her head a fraction of an inch in order to meet his eyes.

"Du kannst mich mal kreuzweise."

--2

"You want me to what?" John asks dubiously. He's certain he must have heard her incorrectly.

She leans forward conspiratorially. "I want you to get Teyla to stand under the mistletoe."

Okay, he did hear her correctly, he just doesn't understand her. "Why?"

Elizabeth sighs dramatically. "Why do people normally stand under mistletoe, John?"

He discreetly places his hand on her desk to steady himself. This can't be right. "To kiss."

She nods eagerly.

"You want me to kiss Teyla?"

She actually bursts into laughter the moment the words leave his mouth. "No, no." She pauses for a moment and considers him thoughtfully. "I mean, you could if you wanted, I suppose." She looks up at him quizzically. "Do you want to?"

"No!" he answers quickly, awkwardly. "No, I don't."

Her grin is Cheshire. "Well okay then."

John shifts his weight. He has his assignment, he just doesn't understand it. "Who do you want Teyla to kiss?"

"Rodney, of course."

"Of course." His brain catches up with his mouth. "McKay?"

"Do you know another Rodney?"

"What? Why in the world would Teyla want to kiss McKay?" He can't help the disgusted look that flits over his face.

She shrugs her shoulders lightly and reaches to straighten a stack of files. "Because he's cute."

John takes a step forward and presses the back of his hand to her forehead with concern. "Elizabeth, are you feeling all right? Maybe we should have Carson check you out."

She swats his hand away. "Yes, John, I'm fine. If you don't want to help me I'll get someone else to do it."

"Help you arrange for Teyla and Rodney to kiss," he clarifies, still uncertain as to whether or not she's currently sane.

"Yes," she answers simply, as if it's the most logical thing in the world.

A thought occurs to him and his eyes widen considerably. "Did Teyla say something to you about him?"

She stands, pushing her chair away from her desk and closing the top to her computer. "She didn't have to."

"You just know," he expands for her.

"I just know," she agrees and walks out the door of her office.

John turns to follow her, his hand absently scratching his temple. "You know that Teyla wants to kiss Rodney."

"Mmmhmm." The sparkle in her eye is throwing him for a loop. He's never seen this side of Elizabeth and, frankly, he's more than a little frightened.

She stops and turns at the door of the gateroom and he comes to a halt beside her. "So you'll do it?" she asks hopefully.

Against his better judgment he nods in the affirmative. "But if they figure out it was planned," he points at her, shaking his finger, "you are taking full responsibility."

"It's a deal," she smiles and then looks up. "Well, would you look at that."

His eyes follow hers and land on a bright green sprig of plastic mistletoe. Wow. She really is a schemer. But who is he to foil her plans?

--3

After a moment's hesitation Elizabeth lets out a breath. "No."

John leans forward to protest but Rodney beats him to it. "No?"

"No," she repeats firmly. "I will not authorize this mission."

"Why in the hell not?" John erupts, causing Elizabeth to bristle.

"Because," she answers tightly.

"The information we would retrieve could be invaluable. It could tell us everything we ever wanted to know about the Genii and their plans for interplanetary domination."

"I understand that, Rodney."

"I don't think you do," John interjects heatedly. "If you did, you'd authorize this mission."

"We're passing up on an incredible opportunity," Rodney adds on a whimper.

Elizabeth stands and gathers her things, indicating that the briefing is over. "Dismissed."

She turns on her heel and breezes out of the room. John cuts a quick glance to Rodney before following after her.

"Dismissed?" he asks as he crosses the gangway and into her office. "When was the last time you dismissed us like we were your subordinates?"

She drops into her chair and lifts her head to look him directly in the eye. "You are my subordinate, Colonel."

"We're a team, Elizabeth," he counters, stepping up to her desk and perching on the edge. "Partners."

Her gaze slides away from his, drifting to the surface of her desk as she leans back in her chair with a sigh. "Technically that's not the case."

He shakes his head in disbelief. Sure, it isn't technically true, but it is the way they've operated since they learned how to balance one another in those first few years. "So, you're just going to blow this one off."

He can see her jaw clenching. "If that's what you want to call it, yes." Her voice is flat.

He grips the edge of her desk and leans forward. "I understand that it's a dangerous mission, but that's why I'd be the only one going."

Elizabeth's eyes flick up from their focal point on her monitor. "It's reckless."

The implications of that statement infuriate him. "I can pull it off. I'll slip in and out and they won't even realize I was there until they go to look for the device. I've done this kind of thing before."

"No."

"You don't trust me," he spits the words bitterly, shoving himself from her desk. "After all we've been through, you don't think I'm capable of doing my job."

Her hand moves to her forehead, as if she could rub the headache away – which infuriates him even more. "John, you don't –"

"Oh, I get it," he cuts her off, "I do. I guess I was under the impression that you thought more highly of me." He turns toward the door. "I was wrong."

"John," she calls as she stands, "it's not that."

He keeps walking. Of course that's it, he tells himself as her voice fades in the distance. What else could it be?

--4

He pulls her to him and turns, backing her into the wall without breaking contact. Her lips are warm and sweet and he doesn't ever want to taste anything but her for as long as he lives.

"John," she whispers as she drags her mouth away, "we shouldn't –" She can't finish her thought as his hands slide under her shirt, teasing the soft skin of her stomach. Goose bumps ripple under his palms and a moan escapes from the back of her throat. His mouth trails hungry kisses down the side of her neck as his hands travel up her ribs, her skin hot to his touch.

"John," she practically pants as she tilts her head to allow him better access, "we can't."

He's had a number of relationships with women throughout his life – his mother, his younger sister, several girlfriends – so he's not unaccustomed to the ability of the female to say one thing and mean another. In this particular case, he opts to listen to her body instead of her words. Her body definitely needs to be afforded the opportunity to do the talking once in a while.

Restless, he pushes back into her and runs his lips along her jaw to her ear. His fingers find the clasp of her bra, unfastening it with a practiced ease. She grips reflexively on his shoulders as his hands slide down her back to drag at the hem of her t-shirt, but before he can get it more than halfway up, she's pulling away.

"John," she repeats, more forcefully this time and her hand comes to rest on his chest. "Stop."

Her eyes drift open and come into focus; he can see rationality returning to their green depths.

"John," she says slowly, solemnly.

He tenses instinctively. His blood is pumping at an accelerated rate and he's practically shaking with anticipation. "Elizabeth," he growls. "You've got to be kidding me."

Her body pulls away from him and she tugs awkwardly at her shirt. "John we can't –"

His heart sinks in bitter, dizzying disappointment. "Can't? This again? How many times do we have to have this conversation?" His ears are burning and his fists are clenching as he takes a step away from her. He sucks air through his teeth, his jaw set so hard that the muscles cramp. "We can't keep going around in circles, Elizabeth. I can appreciate the complexity of our situation but I am not a human yo-yo. You can't keep pulling me in and pushing me away. Make up your god-damned mind!"

He doesn't mean to be so volatile, but she has always had the ability to send his emotions racing and he struggles to keep them in check.

She takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. "What I mean is we can't do this here," she emphasizes softly, eyes indicating their surroundings. Elizabeth arches one eyebrow and openly looks him up and down before continuing. "I was just going to suggest that we take it out of the hallway."

For a heartbeat he can do nothing but blink at her stupidly. When he finally gathers the courage to look her in the eye he finds her grinning slyly up at him.

She grabs his hand and tugs him down the hall.

--5

It's 0200 hours when John and his team finally make it back to Atlantis. The mission itself shouldn't have taken that long, but Rodney ended up sticking his foot squarely in his mouth and insulting the local leader – who happened to have a very low tolerance for McKay prattle as well as an insatiable urge to test out his new jail cell. Fortunately they'd been able to contact Elizabeth and she had spoken with the high counsel, managing to reduce the team's incarceration to little more than a timeout.

Regardless, the last seven hours were particularly unpleasant for the off-world team.

"Look, I don't know how many more times I can say it," McKay offers apologetically as they clear the event horizon. "I didn't realize it was a mole, I _swear_."

"McKay," John grounds out, not slowing his pace as he heads for the weapons locker. "Give it a rest."

"We do not hold this against you," Teyla says diplomatically. "We are simply tired and agitated."

Ronon grunts but John can't be sure whether the sound is an agreement or a dissent. Probably both.

"So, we're good?" Rodney asks hopefully. "You guys forgive me?"

"I won't if you don't stop talking," John snaps, discarding his gear.

"But –"

"_Now_."

"Excellent, okay." Rodney mimes zipping his lips and then scurries out of the room, John's eyes piercing his back like daggers.

"We should have left him there," Ronon says gruffly as he leaves, Teyla trailing behind him with a disapproving, "Ronon."

John makes his way down the corridor and waves his hand across the sensor when he arrives at his quarters. The door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing a darkened room. He sheds his clothing and makes his way to the bed, gently prodding the bundle inside.

"Elizabeth," he says softly, "you're hogging the bed. Move over."

She stirs, but makes no other indication that she's aware of his presence.

"Elizabeth," he sings.

A dark head of curls pokes out from beneath the blankets, slitted eyes blinking groggily up at him.

"Scoot over," he tries again.

"Mrmpht."

"What?" She still hasn't moved.

"Nrrfmd."

They really need to get a bigger bed. "Elizabeth, you're all diagonal and I can't get in bed. I'm cold, I'm tired and I'm slightly cranky. Can you just slide over?"

"Mrmpht."

He'd be irritated if she wasn't so cute. "All right, you leave me no choice." He throws back the covers and leans down, slipping his hands beneath her and lifting her out of the bed. He gently deposits her far enough to the side that there's space for him to squeeze onto the mattress.

John settles in beside her with a contented hum, pulling the blankets tightly around them and burrowing in close to the warmth of her body. "Love you," he whispers in her ear.

"Vutoo."


	3. John Doesn't Come Home

Five times John Sheppard doesn't come home.

Warning: Character death – though not in every one of them, I promise

-- 1

"Sir," Lorne argues with barely bridled frustration, "I still don't believe that this is the best course of action."

They're sitting on a hard rock floor, the same floor they've been sitting on for the last two and a half months, but tonight it feels different, as though the ever-present chill has finally bled its way through their clothing and through their skin and is now languidly seeping into their bones.

Though his accompanying scoff is little more than a whisper, Sheppard does manage to raise an incredulous eyebrow. "You think we have options?"

"Let me do it," Lorne implores recklessly, meeting his commander's eyes for the first time in days. There's a note of futility in the words that he's unable to suppress. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that the argument is pointless, that Sheppard will never agree to it regardless of the fact that it's the right thing to do. This is the one place where the military commander of Atlantis has consistently failed as a leader: John Sheppard is unable to delegate death.

Not that Lorne blames him.

Predictably, Sheppard doesn't dignify the request with a response.

The colonel's eyes are slightly glassy and void of color but he speaks in a strong, clear voice. "Take care of my city, Major."

1Lorne clenches his jaw and tightens his grip across the stock of his gun. He will, Lorne swears. He will.

-- 2

"Damn it, Rodney, I said move!" John shoves the astrophysicist along the narrow path, the sound of weapons fire over the din of the storm pulsing a sharp, staccato beat in his ears. In front of them, Teyla wrestles with a native, disabling him with a blow to the solar plexus. Behind them Ronon leaves a trail of fallen soldiers in his wake.

Rodney fumbles his footing, pitching forward, clutching his prize and bracing himself for impact. John's hand reflexively grabs at his vest, just preventing the fall and saving the delicate technology.

"Stop pushing me!" McKay yells through ragged breaths. At any other time John would rejoin with a sarcastic quip, but right now he's got his finger on his trigger and his team's life at stake, so he opts not to spare his attention.

Twenty paces ahead, Teyla finds the DHD. She blinks sweat from her eyes as she inputs the address, and when Rodney and John finally reach her she nods to indicate that the shield has been lowered.

The moment before the bullet pierces Rodney's shoulder Ronon kills the man who fired it.

John can't get to Rodney before he falls. Instead he picks him up from the mud while Teyla hurriedly gathers scattered pieces of their now fractured device.

"Flesh wound," John breathes, relieved. He looks over his shoulder to catch Teyla's eye. "He'll be fine."

Rodney grumbles a protest but John pulls him to his feet anyway, heaving him through the event horizon much like a rag doll. He turns to see Ronon closing the distance to their escape, enemy soldiers still tight on his tail.

With a hasty "go" from the colonel, Teyla follows Rodney through the Gate with as much of the instrument as she's able to hold. John turns to give cover to the last of his team.

Ronon is the only Lantian remaining to see him fall, two shots to the chest. The Satedan roars at the rain, at the soldiers, but in the end all he can do is drag his commander through the wormhole. He receives a bullet in the arm for his trouble.

But he feels no pain.

-- 3

A fresh pint of beer slides into his field of vision.

Elizabeth nods to the drink. "For you. Been waiting long?" she asks, easing into the booth across from him. She sips at her buttered rum carefully, the hot drink doing little to warm her chill.

He shakes his head. "I wanted to get a head start."

1"You look tired," she notices. His face is shrouded in shadow but she can still make out the dark circles under his eyes and the line of clenched muscles that span his jaw.

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, letting his eyes slide shut briefly. Opening them, he waves a hand at the bar. "It's just this transition," he says.

1The quiet settles over them like a thick blanket, broken only by occasional stirring and sipping. It feels unnatural, entirely unlike the comfortable lull they're used to experiencing when conversation fades. She focuses on turning her cup in her hands.

When she can no longer bear the silence Elizabeth inclines her head toward the front of the room. "There's mistletoe above the door. Did you get caught on the way in?"

"Christmas sucks."

She shrugs in acquiescence 1and knits her fingers together. "This year at least."

John makes a noncommittal noise and drains the last of his drink. A waitress passes the booth and he reaches out, snagging her forearm to grab her attention.

As the she skirts away with his order Elizabeth eyes him carefully. She knows what his reaction will be but she can't seem to help herself. "You sure you should have more?"

"Don't baby me, Elizabeth. You don't have that right anymore."

The comment stings - as he no doubt intended - but she lets it pass, opting instead to grin wryly. "Did I ever?" 1

He doesn't respond, turning his attention back to his empty glass; as if somehow he could find something of value inside. He looks so different – so hollow. She feels a shameful blush overtake her.

The words that come from her mouth are pleading, a desperate tone that she doesn't fully recognize. "I tried, John –"

He shrugs and when he speaks his voice is flat. "I know."

"I won't stop trying," she continues, the platitude grating to her ears. She places her hand over his and wills him to look at her.

He doesn't. Instead he takes a deep breath and says softly, "I know that too."

He does know that – she knows he does – but it isn't enough.

"This is not the end," she insists.

"Feels like it," he admits as the waitress deposits another drink. He finally meets Elizabeth's eyes and is 1surprised to find her blinking rapidly. His gaze slides back to the table and 1his fingers twist themselves around his glass.

She swirls the remainder of the drink in her cup, her thoughts spinning in time with the liquid.

1"Do you ever wonder," she muses quietly, still focused on her drink, "what would have happened if things had gone differently?" Her lashes flutter over her cheeks and he thinks that she's beautiful.

"When?" he asks.

"Pick a time." She waves a hand.

He trails his fingers over the condensation on his glass. "All the time."

"Me too," she says. Her hair slips out of its twist and brushes over her cheek. "Listen, John," she begins in a rush, "there are some things that we've never…" She bites her lip as she tries to formulate the words. "Some things we didn't discuss that –"

"Elizabeth," her name is a sigh, "now who's acting like this is the end?"

Her smile is weak but genuine. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know – never mind." She's never been this wishy-washy in her life. She clenches her hands into fists and tells herself to buck up.

John looks to the clock on the wall, its steady motion a constant reminder of the changes to come. 1He averts his eyes; he doesn't want to watch the seconds slip by. "You should go."

"Yeah."

"Don't want to miss the boat. Someone has to hold down the fort now that I'm reassigned."

She slides out of the booth reluctantly and steps up beside him. She tries to imprint this memory – the curve of his face, the shade of his eyes. Dropping a hand on his shoulder she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Take care of yourself, John," she whispers quietly as she pulls away.

He places his hand lightly on hers and considers not letting go. "You too, Elizabeth." He lets his hand drift back to his drink. "And remember not to take any shit from Colonel Tucker. Assignment or not, I'll hop galaxies to kick his ass."

As she walks out the door she smiles. Definitely not the end.

-- 4

"What?" Elizabeth closes her eyes as if the darkness will make her better able to hear the faint, tinny words that echo from her comm.

"Sheppa...ness...unable...where..." Rodney's voice blurs with the static; if it weren't so cracked she would swear to a note of distress in his tone.

"I can't understand you Rodney. We're lowering the shield." She nods to the technician.

Against her better judgment she makes her way down the stairs and into the gateroom.

Teyla appears first, then Ronon. Then Rodney, followed closely by the barrel of John's gun. By the time the colonel materializes completely Elizabeth's heart is in her throat.

His eyes are steely and sharp and his voice is eerily detached. "Doctor Elizabeth Weir."

The chill of the words hits her with blunt force, knocking the wind from her lungs and leaving her struggling for breath. Her hand involuntarily clutches at her chest as she attempts to pull herself together and bring into focus the picture before her. The rest of the team is disarmed, if unbound, but their eyes flit nervously between John and each other. A trail of blood trickles down the side of Teyla's head, Ronon's nose appears to be broken and Rodney is radiating fear.

The wormhole disengages and Elizabeth fights the urge to take a step backward and shield herself behind a wall of marines. Instead she stands to her full height. "Colonel," her voice is even and clear – the antithesis of the thoughts that rush through her head, "what's going on?"

His face contorts into something that vaguely resembles a grin. "Tell your security team to stand down," he orders. He presses the muzzle of his gun to the back of Rodney's neck. "Now."

"John," she soothes, "put the gun down and talk to me." She makes eye contact with Teyla in a desperate attempt to find out what the hell is going on but is unable to decipher the response. The only thing she finds in the woman's eyes is an ill-fitting panic. Elizabeth wonders at the fact that she sees no confusion. Obviously, the off-world team knows exactly what is happening here.

The marine security team looks to her for instruction. She hesitates only a moment before inclining her head slightly.

"I think I'll keep it right here for now," he answers, jamming his weapon harder into Rodney and causing him to whimper. John laughs. "You don't like that, Doctor Rodney McKay?"

She's only half listening to John's taunts as she silently gathers the attention of her security team, Teyla and Ronon. The marines grip their weapons tightly and the warriors tremble with burning anger and frustration.

She wishes Major Lorne were here.

On her nod the room erupts into a flurry of action. Teyla pulls Rodney away as Ronon tackles John to the ground. The Satedan lands on top, the two men wrestling and grunting – half a dozen marines surround them, assorted stunners and even a pair of P90s poised at the ready. She imagines watching bullets pierce his flesh and prays that they don't have to use them.

In the end, it doesn't matter. When the colonel's weapon fires into Ronon's stomach someone discharges a stunner – incapacitating John.

Beckett manages to save Ronon after hours of surgery. The alien entity that had taken over the colonel died when struck by the stunner blast, but Carson's best guess is that John himself was dead long ago.

She finds little solace in that.

-- 5

He should be asleep.

All of the elements are there. The whir of the ventilation system is rhythmic in its persistence, like a whispered song on repeat. The only light that mars the black of night spills from a desk lamp across the room, creating a milky haze that allows for warmth but little visibility. The last time he actually reclined was some fifty odd hours ago.

But John Sheppard is wide awake.

It's been a traumatic couple of days. Things began, as they always do, with what promised to be a routine negotiation. The Ongarians were the typical, garden variety Pegasus farming community. They gave the Genii performance as rural agrarian a run for the money – which should have been the first clue. The second should have been that Elizabeth was along for the tour.

The beeping of her heart monitor is steady and strong now, both a painful indicator of her feeble condition and a reassuring reminder of her presence. He feels the echoes of the machine pulse through him, coursing through his veins and interwoven through his blood, forcing his heart to pound in sync with hers. 

"John?" asks a small voice so unlike Elizabeth's that, were it not for the familiar way it causes his stomach to flip, he might not have recognized it.

"I'm here," he whispers, reaching for her gently. 1She turns her hand over beneath his and her fingers fold against the back of his hand. His thumb rubs over her palm, soothing the only part of her that he's sure doesn't hurt. "I'm here, Elizabeth."

"What happened?" she asks shakily. "What – where are we?"

This is the third time she's awoken without her short term memory – a side effect that Beckett says is to be expected and promises is only temporary.

"You were captured, Elizabeth." He takes a deep breath, guilt creeping up his spine, urging him not to tell her of his failure but knowing that there's no other way to explain. "The Ongarians imprisoned you for eight days. They tortured you, drugged you and tried to get information from you."

A solitary tear slips down her face and he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb. This is his penance – telling her anew time after time. He deserves no less than the heartache it causes.

Her fingers flex in his. "But, McKay – and Teyla, what about Teyla? The blood... god, John there was so much blood."

"They're fine," he assures her. "Nothing happened to them." The false memories are also to be expected, but it doesn't make them any easier to bear. Whatever she thinks she experienced, or what she thinks the others experienced, is gruesome and painful and another form of torture that she doesn't deserve.

"Rest, Elizabeth. You'll feel better in the morning." He hopes he's not lying.

Her eyes flutter closed and her breathing steadies. He trails his fingers softly along the back of her hand, doing anything he can to calm her.

The room falls again to silence, the kind of quiet that leaves a man with only the sound of the voices in his head. The kind that leaves a man to reflect on things he'd rather ignore.

He shouldn't have let her go off world, he knows that now. He should have locked her in the control room like Rapunzel in her tower – never to let danger cross her path. It's unrealistic, to be sure, but that doesn't stop him from thinking it's the best course of action.

Elizabeth's breath hitches and her eyes snap open. John squeezes her hand, cold, clammy fingers limp in his grasp.

"John?" she asks tentatively, confusion and fear etched in her features. She has a visible moment of realization and he allows himself the hope that this time she's fully cognizant, that this time she's woken up for good.

"You came home," she says tearfully, clinging desperately to his hand. "John, you came home."

He swallows hard before taking her hand in both of his and squeezing tightly. "No, Elizabeth, no. I didn't come home." He brings her palm to his face, cupping it to his cheek. "I never left."

_I'll never leave_, he adds silently.


	4. Elizabeth Doesn't Know What to Say

Five Times Elizabeth Doesn't Know What to Say

--1

Elizabeth rests her hip against the doorframe, a fresh jug of wine clutched loosely in her grasp.

"It really is a bit embarrassing the way you get all girly around Colonel Mitchell," Rodney comments, continuing a conversation for which Elizabeth has clearly missed the beginning.

"You exaggerate, Rodney," Teyla defends, though she ducks her head slightly to hide a faint blush.

John grins widely. "Don't worry, he's just trying to deflect our keen observations as to his woefully obvious crush and ridiculously schoolboy demeanor when in the presence of one Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter."

"There's nothing of relevance to observe," Rodney insists. "The colonel and I have a professional, working relationship. SG-1's visits are exciting to me only because I have the opportunity to interact with an intellectual worthy of conversation."

"Right," John leans toward Teyla conspiratorially, "_intellectual_ stimulation. That's it."

"I wouldn't talk if I were you," Rodney counters. "You're more of a smitten puppy than either of us."

Immediately Elizabeth's interest is peaked. "John?" she asks, shoving away from the door. "You're smitten with someone?"

All conversation stops and every head in the room swivels to stare as she approaches.

John looks particularly stunned. When he finally responds, his denial is laced with an uncharacteristic hesitancy. "No I'm not." As she watches he appears to sink lower in his seat.

Elizabeth tops off her glass before handing the bottle to Teyla. Any person with a smidgen of decency would take warning at the look on his face, but Elizabeth continues to stare at him expectantly. "Vala?" she guesses, causing McKay to snort.

John winces before letting his eyes fix on Rodney. His icy stare is matched by his low, dangerous tone. "No."

Elizabeth lowers herself onto the couch and considers John carefully. He's uncomfortable, that fact is certain, and his gaze flits about the room as if he's actively avoiding making contact with anyone. She smiles at the realization that he truly is infatuated and, just as clearly, he's embarrassed by it. Her eyes narrow slightly. "It isn't Carter, is it?"

John shakes his head before finishing off the last of his drink and returning his glass to the table. "This is ridiculous. I'm not smitten with anyone." He aims another pointed look at McKay and snatches the bottle from Teyla. "Just because Rodney and Teyla are acting like children doesn't mean that I am too."

"Oh, right." Rodney rolls his eyes. "You don't have a crush. Your love is pure."

"Love?" Teyla echoes. "I was not aware it was love, but now that you say it, it does seem as though..."

"It's not," John snaps defensively.

Elizabeth lifts an eyebrow and shifts in her seat to face him. "What's not?"

"What I -" he cuts himself off and scrubs a hand over his face.

She almost had him.

"Nothing," he clears his throat and continues, "there is nothing. I feel nothing. Can we move on? Let's talk about Teyla and Mitchell again, that was fun."

"Oh, so I can't use that to deflect your baseless claims about Colonel Carter and myself, but when you don't want to talk about your crush on Elizabeth it's –" Rodney's mouth stays open but the sound abruptly stops as he realizes exactly what it is that he's said.

For her part, Elizabeth doesn't move; she can't even blink, floored by the implications of what Rodney let slip. It's all she can do not to fall over from shock. Her eyes dart to John who is desperately searching for some avenue of escape – possibly the floor opening up to swallow him whole.

Suddenly she's unsure of her footing. She swallows hard. "I didn't –" she stops herself before stating the obvious. "I don't –" she stops again, unwilling to lie. "John, I –" she cuts off a third time as her breath catches.

"Perhaps," Teyla offers mercifully, "I do have a small crush on Colonel Mitchell."

--2

Elizabeth slaps her palm against the door repeatedly. "Open up! Open up!"

By the time it slides away to reveal a rather dubious looking John, Elizabeth is already bouncing on the balls of her feet and clearly fighting the urge to rub her hands together in anxious anticipation. He looks her over with no small amount of trepidation. "What are you doing?" he asks warily.

"Come on," she says gleefully, motioning for him to follow, "we're going to get them this time!"

John shakes his head before snagging his vest and jogging to catch up. "Yeah, maybe if you didn't make more noise than an angry stampede and alert all of Atlantis of what we're up to."

She shrugs helplessly as they step into the transporter. "Sorry, I got excited."

John selects their destination from the panel and tugs on his vest. He glances at her from the corner of his eye and tries valiantly to suppress his grin. "I really should have picked a different partner-in-crime."

"Please," she says on a whisper as they step out into the hallway, "like Rodney can do stealth better than I can." As if to prove her point she hunches slightly and starts to tip-toe.

John barks a laugh and she slaps him on the arm. "Shh. We're sneaking," she scolds, pressing her back firmly to the wall.

He takes his cue and attempts to focus, craning his neck around the corner.

"Do you see anyone?" she asks softly.

He pulls back and gives a single shake of his head before retrieving a life signs detector from his vest. A pair of dots bleeps in one corner of the screen. "Just the two."

Elizabeth nods and starts to push off the wall.

"Wait," he says suddenly, snagging her wrist. "We've got a bogie incoming."

She hitches a breath and steps closer to peer down at the screen. "It's coming right for us!" She looks up at him, eyes wide with fear. "We have to hide."

"Hide?" he repeats, then pointedly scans their surroundings. "Where do you suggest we hide?"

"Oh, like you have a brilliant idea?"

His eyes rake over her dangerously. "Actually," he drawls and takes a step forward, only to be halted by a firm hand on his chest.

She cocks an eyebrow at him. "John, you are not going to press me into the wall and pretend to make-out with me," she explains as her voice slips into a barely audible whisper. When he visibly deflates she only grins. "Besides the fact that it wouldn't do anything to conceal us, it would completely defeat the purpose of this exercise."

"And what exactly is that again?" he whispers back, placing the flat of his palms to the wall on either side of her head.

She glances deliberately at the placement of his hands. "To prove that Major Lorne is the Kirk of Atlantis, not you."

John tilts his head thoughtfully. "But if I wasn't concerned about the title you'd let me kiss you?" he asks innocently, leaning a bit further into her space.

She's just working up to her scathing reply when she hears the distinct sound of footsteps approaching.

"Oh my god," she hisses, tugging on his vest. "Someone's coming! What are we going to do?"

"I'll protect you," he says in a deep hero voice, grabbing her by the shoulders and walking her back into the shadows. "Have no fear." He tosses off a mock salute before taking two long strides into the middle of hallway. "Hey Radek," he greets jovially.

Zelenka nods. "Evening, Colonel. Doctor Weir."

Elizabeth stays in the corner but lifts her hand in a small, awkward wave. "Hi."

As the scientist disappears down the corridor John pulls himself up next to her and wipes a hand across his brow. "Whew. That was close."

She fights the urge to slap him again and instead grabs the life signs detector from his hands. Content that the imminent danger has passed, Elizabeth resumes her covert trek toward the two blinking dots.

"It better be a scientist," John whispers as he follows her down the hallway.

Elizabeth frowns. "Are you suggesting that if he's fraternizing with someone in the military you're going to report him?"

John shakes his head. "Hell no. I'm just afraid that if the woman is combat trained she'll kick our asses."

Elizabeth chokes on her laugh and then glares at John.

"Either way," he continues, "I'm going to have to write him up for improper use of a storage facility. Clandestine booty calls are totally against regulations."

"Oh please. Like you haven't tried – "

"Hey!" He attempts to sound indignant. "Let's remember that I'm the victim in all this. Lorne is littering the city with women's underthings and everyone is blaming me!" He blinks puppy eyes at her. "I thought you were on my side."

"Right," she nods and gives him a knowing smile, "I am. You're innocent of the city-wide underthing dispersal."

As they near the storage closet they can't help but hear the unmistakable sound of a woman groaning and – yeah, Elizabeth winces – a man moaning.

"I just don't get why he doesn't stick to his quarters," she muses softly as they come to a stop in front of the door. "It can't be comfortable in there."

John looks her over appraisingly and opens his mouth to respond before seeing her glare and quickly clamping it shut. "I wouldn't know." He grins. "Yet."

She sighs and waves her hand. "Just do your gene thing and open this, will you."

He swipes a palm over the controls and the door slides open, spilling light into the small, cramped space.

"Rodney?" John squeaks.

The scientist squints into the light. "Yes, Colonel?"

"Is there something we can do for you?" Teyla inquires.

Elizabeth's jaw unhinges.

"Uh, no," John answers after a moment. "No, no. As you were." As the door closes he turns to Elizabeth. "Well, I suppose it still proves my innocence."

--3

Elizabeth barely makes it through the threshold of her office before she can no longer hold her tongue. "You disobeyed a direct order, Colonel."

"It was a stupid order, _Doctor_," John hisses, trailing her into the room.

She moves behind her desk and leans forward, her palms steaming the glass of the table. "That is not your decision to make! When I tell you what to do, you _do_ it!"

He scoffs with indignant defiance and begins to pace, his body vibrating with barely-suppressed anger. "So if you tell me to run naked through the halls, I do it without question?"

"If I ordered it, yes!" They're making a scene but neither seems to care.

His voice rises to match hers. "That is the most _ridiculous_ thing I have ever heard!"

"If I tell you to do something, there is obviously a legitimate reason and I expect results!"

John stops abruptly and pivots to face her, seething with fury. "What could possibly require me to run naked through the halls?"

"How the hell should I know?" Elizabeth gives him a suffering look and pushes away from the desk impatiently. "It was your stupid hypothetical order!"

John shakes his head angrily before folding his arms across his chest. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to settle himself. "This is a waste of an argument. I did what I had to do and I got the job done."

"You could have gotten the job done if you'd followed my orders."

"We don't know that," he grounds out through clenched teeth.

She throws her hands up in frustration. "Because you didn't follow them!"

John steps toward her, leaning on the desk in a mirror of her earlier stance. His tone is as civil as he can manage. "Why are you fighting me on this? What's done is done."

After a few calming breaths she attempts a rational reply. "This isn't just about today. You don't listen to me, John."

"Yes I do."

"Only when it suits you."

He gives her a warning look but she isn't paying attention.

"That's bullshit, Elizabeth, and you know it." He pushes a hand through his hair; the anger is bubbling again.

"Do I?"

"Yes," he insists more vehemently than he intends.

"John, the last few months…"

1The comment knocks him hard in the chest. 1His hands clench into tight white balls and his eyes bore into her with a force she's seldom felt from him. "Don't you dare make this about that."

"How can I not? Ever since – "

"That's crap," he cuts her off, his fist pounding her desk, rattling her collection of ridiculous figurines.

Elizabeth inhales slowly, trying to steel her emotions, and her reply is carefully controlled. "We need to talk about this, John."

His eyes widen in shock before quickly narrowing to slits, at once challenging and dangerous. "Oh, now you want to talk? _Now_ you want to talk? You haven't looked me in the eye for three months and now you want to have a little heart-to-heart? Fine. Let's talk." His intensity is fierce and he steps closer until they're only inches apart. "I didn't just sleep with you for the hell of it, Elizabeth. I slept with you because I'm in love with you – so deeply and completely that there was no other way to express it." His shoulders rise and fall with his heaving breaths and his voice is tight with emotion. "And you don't give a shit."

1She opens her mouth to respond but finds that she has no words.

11He stands there for a moment, eyes alight with fire, before turning and making his way to the door. When he reaches it he pauses to look over his shoulder. "You just remember who wanted to talk." 1

--4

"I don't think it will continue to be a problem."

Elizabeth closes the lid of her laptop and leans back in her chair to appraise him thoughtfully. Normally she would just let the matter go, but something about the way John is carrying himself in this instance makes her suspicious. "While I find your assurances mildly comforting, I'd still like to talk with them myself."

John scrunches his face in an expression that lands somewhere between uncomfortable and nervous.

"John," she prompts with two raised eyebrows.

"I um… I kind of promised them you'd leave it alone."

Confusion creases her forehead and she leans forward in her seat. "What? Why?"

"Well," he shrugs one shoulder in feigned nonchalance before the rest of the sentence tumbles quickly from his mouth, "they're a little afraid of you."

Okay, she didn't see that coming. "O'Brien and Taylor?"

He winces a little before answering quietly, "The marines in general."

"All of them?"

John opens his mouth to respond but instead is cut off by a piercing wail. Turning in his seat, he watches curiously as the door to Elizabeth's office slides open to allow entry to a rather tormented looking McKay awkwardly balancing a tiny bundle in his grasp.

"Rodney, what on –" Elizabeth begins but stops short when he thrusts the screaming infant toward her. She leans back instinctively and puts both hands up to ward him off.

"Take her," McKay pleads, stepping forward with his charge at arm's length. "For the love of everything holy, take her." Red faced and white fisted, the baby dangles precariously over Elizabeth's lap, tears tumbling rapidly down her wet, chubby cheeks.

Elizabeth fights the urge to roll her chair back until it's flush with the wall. "I don't think I'm –"

The baby shrieks again and Elizabeth recoils, barely biting back a cry of her own.

Rodney swivels to John. "Help," he implores pathetically.

"Jesus, you two," John says, abandoning his chair and relieving Rodney of the crying infant. "It's a baby, not a bomb."

John tucks one arm under the child's bottom and runs the thumb of his free hand up and down her tiny back in gentle, rhythmic strokes. Elizabeth watches from a distance as her military commander proceeds to whisper indistinguishable comforts into the baby's ear, bouncing her lightly and soothing the wails into small, distressed hiccups.

"Oh, thank god." Rodney sighs, dropping into John's chair with a melodramatic flair. "I was certain that thing would never shut up."

Tearing her eyes away from the sight of John with a baby, Elizabeth fixes her attention on Rodney. "Why in the world did you bring her to me?"

Rodney shrugs. "Teyla had to go to the mainland and Major Lorne is off-world. Nina – Nadia?"

"Nya," Elizabeth supplies.

"– needed a babysitter."

"The real question," John whispers, maintaining his soft, soothing tone, "is why they entrusted a four month old to you."

"What you mean to ask is why they entrusted her to you," Rodney corrects, levering himself to a standing position and scrambling toward the door. "I have scientific experiments to oversee. Teyla should be back in an hour or two," he calls over his shoulder.

"McKay –" John starts, but the scientist is already on the far side of the gangway. "Well," he turns to Elizabeth, "looks like we've gotten ourselves saddled with a munchkin."

Elizabeth shakes her head and stands, grabbing at the files on her desk – she doesn't actually know what she will do with them once she has them, but she feels the need to look busy.

"No," she clears her throat and fixes a serious expression. "I don't think so, Colonel. You're on your own with this one." Heaving the stack of papers into her arms, she ducks her head and makes her way toward the door.

John blocks her path as she rounds the desk. "Oh no you don't." He grabs her forearm before she can escape. "We're in this together."

She shakes him off and makes a move to step around him but he continues to obstruct her way out. "I didn't sign up for this, John."

"Neither did I."

"Really," she insists, "I think it's better if you handle this one on your own."

John's hand returns to the baby's back as her small head lulls in the beginnings of sleep. "Come on, Elizabeth." He drops his cheek to Nya's head. "She's just a baby. It'll be relaxing."

Elizabeth raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Okay," he amends, "not relaxing, but fun."

"Anyway," he continues absently, mesmerized by the child's peaceful face, "you really are going to have to get used to the idea of babies around here. This little lady may be the first but she certainly won't be the last. We're going to have to have ourselves a boy just to piss Lorne off." He chuckles to himself, causing Nya to gurgle and Elizabeth to wonder who exactly he means by 'we.' "Can you imagine when they get to dating age? We're going to have to make sure the major is cut off from the armory when our son first asks Nya out."

"Our…" The single strangled word escapes her lips but John continues as if she hasn't spoken.

"I think I'll be a pretty reasonable father – though we'll have to agree that if we have a girl she's not allowed to date any spawns of the McKay variety. That'd just be wrong on fundamental levels."

Her mouth snaps shut as soon as she realizes it's hanging open. "We?" she chokes after a moment's pause.

"You and me," he responds as if the answer is obvious. "Hey, did you hear that Ronon and Heightmeyer are expecting? That kid will have one crazy head of hair… Elizabeth? Are you okay? You're looking a bit pale. Why don't you sit down and we'll practice changing a diaper."

--5

The blinding white light she can handle, but the pressure squeezing at her insides is pushing her over the edge.

"Rodney," she croaks when she finds her breath, "what the hell did you do?"

Elizabeth blinks a few times in an attempt to clear her vision before turning on wobbly legs to find McKay leaning over the table with his head in his hands.

"I think I'm going to puke," comes the muffled response.

She considers telling him that it's his own damn fault but thinks better of it. It's probably just the nausea making her irritable.

She activates her comm and calls for a med team but is answered only by static. That's never a good sign.

McKay moans and stomach acid rises in her throat.

She rubs at her eyes again before pushing herself upright and heading toward Rodney. "Come on," she says hoarsely, snaking an arm around his waist and prying him from the table. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

As they struggle down the hall a hint of eerie foreboding washes over her, though she's hard pressed to determine its source. It's not as if they've never suffered through explosions in the pursuit of understanding Ancient technology. She's walking, she's talking and Rodney is still here with her. But she senses that this is somehow… different.

"Rodney," she asks hesitantly, "do you feel like something's… a little off?"

"Besides my equilibrium?" he asks rhetorically.

"What exactly was that artifact supposed to do?"

Rodney pinches the bridge of his nose as they round the corner and enter the infirmary. "As far as I can tell its sole purpose is to make me physically ill." He stops dramatically in the doorframe. "Carson, I'm dying!"

"I'll believe it when I see it," Beckett answers, but makes his way across the room anyway. "What have you gotten yourself into this time, Rodney?"

As McKay describes his symptoms in detail, Elizabeth settles herself on the nearest bed and rests a hand on her churning stomach. The pressure is still making her head throb and she knows without a doubt that she won't be able to stay upright much longer. Putting her head between her legs, she makes herself take slow, even breaths and attempts to will the discomfort away.

Footsteps draw near and Carson's voice echoes loudly in her ears. "Elizabeth, love, are you all right?"

"I don't think so." She would shake her head but she imagines that would only make things worse.

"Rodney tells me you two were playing with Ancient technology and it's resulted in a good deal of nausea. I've given him some trimethobenzamide which will hopefully settle things down a fair bit." He drops his hand to her shoulder and squeezes lightly. "Why don't you lie back and we'll do the same for you."

Elizabeth obliges, stretching out fully and resting her head on a soft pillow as the chaos of the infirmary swirls around her. Closing her eyes she focuses again on her breathing and the steady rise and fall of her chest, letting darkness swallow the spin of the room.

The infirmary bed shifts as a light weight settles near her feet. Elizabeth pries one eye open and discovers a young girl, no more than four, perched tentatively on the mattress.

"Hello," Elizabeth's voice is wary. She is certain she would know if the Daedalus had dropped children off on its last supply run.

"Hi!" the girl responds brightly and then quickly covers her mouth with her hands. Her eyes are wide but she slides her tiny fingers down a little and whispers, "Uncle Carson told me I couldn't talk!"

Elizabeth can't help but smile. "I won't tell him you did," she promises.

"I might," John says, sweeping up the child and causing a small squeal of laughter. "You, my little rugrat," he continues as she settles into his arms, "were supposed to let your mommy get some rest."

Elizabeth's heart drops to the pit of her stomach and she swears that she just stopped breathing. Mommy? What did Rodney do?

"I didn't do it!" the girl defends. "She talked to me first!"

"A likely story," he counters, tapping her nose and depositing her gently on the ground. "Why don't you go check on Uncle Rodney?"

The girl nods, trotting away merrily, and John approaches Elizabeth, sitting down carefully on the side of her bed. He sweeps a wisp of hair from her face and frowns in concern. "Carson told me what happened. You feeling any better?"

"I… I, um." Her eyes trail to Rodney's bed where a dark head of curls and bright expressive eyes have captured the physicist's attention. "I…"

"Honey," John says, his voice thick with worry. "Are you all right?"

Is she all right? No. Yes. Maybe. No. Yes. Oh, god.


	5. Elizabeth Walks Away

Five Times Elizabeth Walks Away

--1

The rain pours from the sky in sheets, rolling off the tip of her hood and splashing against her face. She wraps her fingers tightly around her biceps and braces herself against the wind.

The house stands in front of her, a little ways down the drive. She knows it's warm inside, protected from the surrounding storm by heat and light and perhaps something more. The windows glow yellow behind the curtains and a shadow moves inside. She tightens the hold she has on herself and moves toward it.

Heart sinking in cadence with each step, she makes her way down the path. The wind is at her front, pushing against her, but she tilts her chin to her chest and struggles against it to climb the steps to the front door.

A little black nose parts the curtains to reveal a yellow face and big, sad eyes. She knows that just beyond the curtain a tail is wagging, anxious and excited, not knowing what is to come.

She has no delusions about reaching for the knob. Faltering now will only bring more heartache, will only cause her resolve to waiver, and this is something she must do.

She slips a cold, wet hand into her coat and retrieves the disc. She places it carefully on the mat and arranges it once, then again, until she knows she has no more excuse to stay.

The wind at her back propels her forward as she turns and walks away.

--2

"Goodnight," she says as she passes through the control room on her way to her quarters.

"Goodnight," responds the technician, "and try to get some rest, ma'am."

Elizabeth doesn't break stride but she does hesitate. In the end, she doesn't answer. After all, she's never considered herself one to make false promises.

Since coming to Atlantis, she's had very little time for herself. Leading an intergalactic expedition turned out to be a more than full-time job. She's happy to do it of course, wouldn't want it any other way; but sometimes at night, when it's after oh three hundred hours and she's still on her feet, she thinks about alternatives.

She slows as she comes to the fork that will take her to her quarters. After a moment she bites her lip and turns right instead. She reaches the infirmary quickly enough, and only battles with herself one more time before crossing the threshold.

It's dark but not black inside, the faint glow of softly dimmed lamps casting itself gently across the room. Privacy curtains are closed around beds that house sleeping patients, but one remains in view.

In a small, makeshift crib lies a newborn -- the first child born on Atlantis in over 10,000 years. The tag at the foot of his bed proclaims his name.

"Hello, Aaron," she whispers to the tiny bundle. He's pink and wrinkly and blinking up at her with rich, dark-brown eyes.

His hand waves as he wiggles and she brushes his palm with her finger.

In the quiet of early morning she watches him. The grip he has on her isn't firm, but it's powerful. There are no jarring sounds here, no shouts, and the ghosts are quiet, too. She looks at the tiny hand and thinks maybe, just maybe, some day she could have that.

All too soon the shadows hovering at the edges of the room begin to creep closer. The small eyelids blink once, twice, then slowly fall shut. She pulls her finger from his grasp and turns away.

Her thoughts to return to work and the city as she makes her way to her quarters, leaving impossibilities where they belong -- in the darkness of night.

--3

She never thought it would come to this.

Well, that's not entirely true. She never thought it would be _him_ that brought them here.

"Elizabeth?" he calls her name softly and she realizes she's been sitting in silence for an indeterminable length of time. She tears her eyes away from her tangled fingers and finally meets his gaze. He looks awkward and uncomfortable and _vulnerable_, and she's not sure she can muster the strength to fight this anymore.

"John, I," she trails off, at a loss as to what to say.

He loves her. _Loves her_. She lets the thought wrap around her. It settles on her shoulders and seeps into her chest. But then slowly, inch by inch, it gains presence in her mind. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be uncomplicated. It was supposed to be a diversion. Love was never an intended piece of the equation.

It occurs to her that she could have done things differently if only she had known the consequences. Scenes pile up on top of each other -- moment after moment where she could have said something else or waited a minute longer. She lists each apology that she could have made, takes back all of her yeses, and retreats before she even arrives at this point.

But those scenarios are all in her imagination and change nothing. Right now she's still sitting in the quarters of a man she may have already allowed herself to love, considering how best to break his heart.

This isn't what she wanted. It isn't what she intended.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, pushing the words between them.

"You're sorry?" he asks. "Why are you sorry that I love you?"

Because she's the leader of the expedition. Because she cannot afford to split her focus, to form attachments or to compromise in any way. Because she's not allowed.

"Because I don't love you," she says instead. She waits until she's halfway through the door before pausing and whispering over her shoulder, "I'm so very sorry."

--4

"Ma'am?"

Major Lorne is speaking and she admonishes herself to focus. "I'm sorry?"

"The 302s are in place, ma'am. Your orders?"

She folds her arms over her chest and stares at the screen. She's aware of the correct path, of the decision she needs to make. They've blatantly broken the treaty, they've refused to reopen negotiations and have now more than doubled their arms production. The right move is clear before her -- it simply contradicts every fundamental belief she's carried since she watched her brother pick a fight in grade-school only to wind up with two black eyes and a detention slip.

She doesn't believe that violence is the solution. But she knows it can be.

"Attack," she says with more conviction than she feels. She holds her eyes on the image on the screen just long enough to appear stalwart before turning on her heel and escaping to the balcony.

She doesn't breathe until she gets there.

--5

She stands in the center of the gate room, thumbs in the straps of her backpack.

They never actually filled this room - no furniture, no clutter - but without their small additions it feels empty, hollow. The hallways that spill from the center tower, the pathways and lifelines to the depths of the city, now lead only to darkness. As the remaining personnel of the Atlantis Expedition file through the gate behind her, crystals fade and flicker out completely. It's strangely like deja vu in reverse.

She feels him approach before she hears him. "Elizabeth?"

She looks away, brushes a finger under her eyes.

"It's time to go," he says softly.

"I know." She doesn't move. His hand reaches out to catch hers and she allows her fingers to curl around his. "I never thought I'd come here. I never thought we'd actually make it."

"I never thought I'd live to see it end."

"I don't know that I'm ready to."

He squeezes her hand lightly. "You know what they say..."

She shakes her head and offers a rueful smile. "Don't say it-"

"When one door closes, another opens."

She thinks of the doors that have closed for her, and of the doors she's never opened. Her life seemed to plot its course like a meandering river. Sediment and erosion altered its path slowly until one day, when she looked back, its shape was so different from when it had started. People had washed away, places were left behind.

She glances at him. "But don't you ever wonder…" She lets the sentence trail away.

"All the time," he pauses, hesitates over his words, "but what they say about the next door is true, you know."

She twists to look up at him. Darkness is shadowed there, but his eyes still hold a bright flare of hope.

He grins. "There's always Brigadoon."

As he disappears through the wormhole, the last of lights flicker out in Atlantis, leaving only the shimmering pool of the wormhole.

With a final glance and a whispered goodbye, Elizabeth turns from her city and steps into the blue.


	6. Elizabeth Wears John's Clothes

Elizabeth Wears John's Clothes

--1

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest – mostly for intimidation purposes but it also served to provide her a modicum of warmth. "And tell me again exactly what you were thinking?"

Rodney winced. "It didn't seem like a bad idea at the time."

She continued to glare at him.

"Right," he conceded. "It was Sheppard's idea. I should have known."

"Hey!" John protested. "It would have been a good idea if you had executed it correctly."

"Oh, now you're making this my fault?"

"I'm not making it anything. It iis/i your fault."

"Gentlemen," Elizabeth interrupted, "I'll solve this little argument for you." Her teeth were beginning to chatter so she pulled her arms more securely around her. "You are both at fault; you will both claim responsibility."

"But –"

She held up a hand briefly to forestall the objection then tucked it back into place and tried not to shiver. "Rodney, fix this. Now."

The scientist was quick to make his escape. John glanced briefly at Elizabeth and then made a move to follow–

"Colonel," she stopped him in his tracks.

He winced. "Yes?"

"Give me your jacket."

He paused, apparently trying to gauge whether or not she was serious. "But it's cold in here," he pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow. "Imagine that."

Reluctantly, John removed his jacket then, after another raised brow, his fleece, and handed them to Elizabeth. She quickly slipped both on and sighed happily.

"And next time," she said as she eased into her chair, "consider roller-skating. No ice required."

--2

"Did you know," John asked, "that I'm the highest ranking officer in the city?"

Rodney snorted and continued to study his datapad. "Yes, I think I've heard something along those lines. Move to the left."

John did as instructed. "There are one hundred and seventy three marines and airmen at my command."

"Wow. You're a whiz with numbers. Thanks for the pointless information." He scribbled something before looking up. "A little to the right."

"You'd think," John continued while stepping sideways, "with all these people taking orders from me, that we'd be able to find someone else to play lab rat to your crazy experiments."

Rodney wasn't phased. "You'd think. Did I say right? I meant left."

John raised his voice, directing his comment over his shoulder. "It figures that the one person who can boss me around is malicious and vindictive."

From across the room Elizabeth called, "You realize that I can hear you, right John? You just earned yourself another hour."

"I meant you to hear it," he called back. Then he continued a little more softly. "See? Malicious and vindictive."

Elizabeth crossed the length of the lab and stopped in front of John, eyeing him appraisingly. "You want another hour? A day, perhaps? I'm sure Rodney has plenty of artifacts he wants to figure out."

"I do," Rodney confirmed. "There are a considerable number of new devices from the lab we found by the east pier. One in particular looks very promising. This one I'm working with now, though, it has an energy reading unlike anything I've seen - take a step back, Colonel - and that's when it's inert. I can't imagine –"

There was a flash of light, some sort of beeping, a sudden chill and then silence.

"Huh," Rodney said, looking up from his datapad. "I wonder what that did."

John sighed. "I think I have an idea."

Elizabeth stood in front of him in a very familiar pair of grey pants and a black shirt. He looked down at himself. Black slacks, red shirt. He tugged a little at the collar. This thing was tight.

Elizabeth wiggled a little experimentally. "John Sheppard," she accused, "you weren't wearing underwear?"

He shifted uncomfortably and shrugged. "Laundry day." Then he wiggled a little himself. He tugged at the waistband of his (her) pants to confirm. "Why, Dr. Weir, I never imagined you'd be one to wear a thong."

She smiled mischievously. "Less material to pack."

--3

iChocolate/i, Elizabeth chanted the mantra in her head. iWe can make chocolate with these beans./i

"Are you guys okay in there?" Rodney asked from the other side of the curtain. "You're taking an awfully long time."

In the stall next to hers, John grunted.

"Fine, Rodney," she answered. "Just changing."

"Still?"

"Still."

"Can you speed this process up a little? I'm hypoglycemic, you know."

John grunted again and she heard him draw his curtain back and walk into the room where the rest of their team waited. Then she heard Rodney burst into laughter and Ronon make some sort of amused snort.

"Nice pants."

"Shut up, Rodney."

"They didn't have them in purple? Pink really isn't your color. But I do enjoy the lace."

"I said, shut up."

Elizabeth tugged at the material that clung tightly to her body and looked herself over in what passed as a mirror on this planet. Even through the somewhat foggy contortions of the metal her reflection left her feeling slight nauseous. Not even the promise of chocolate made this outfit bearable.

"Elizabeth? You coming?" John called over the partition. "The sooner we get this ceremony over with the sooner I can get back into pants that are considerably less transparent."

Even transparent pants weren't enough incentive to make her reach for the door. She sighed, defeated. "No, I'm not."

"Are you dressed?"

If this qualified as clothing. "Yes."

"Then what's the hold-" John poked his head into her changing stall and almost choked. "Whoa."

Elizabeth quickly drew her arms over her chest. "John! Get out of here!"

"You said you were dressed!"

"I am!"

"Not really." His eyes swept over her body as he stepped inside and slid the curtain shut behind him. He had the gall to waggle his eyebrows. "I've seen strippers with more on top than that outfit."

Outside, she heard Rodney speak up. "Really?"

Elizabeth groaned.

"Here," John said as he shrugged off his ridiculously flowy shirt. "Wear this over the top."

She accepted the offered item and slipped it over her head. It hung loosely on her shoulders and the sleeves covered her hands, but it also covered her chest.

She looked at John and frowned. "Now you're not wearing a shirt."

He shrugged. "Better me than you."

From the other side of the curtain she heard a mumbled "doubtful" but decided to ignore it.

John rolled his eyes. "Too bad they're not trading us any citrus." He held the curtain aside and ushered Elizabeth into the main room. He shot a pointed glare at Rodney. "I have a feeling we're going to be running low very soon."

"Well," Rodney countered smugly, "at least I don't look like Aladdin."

"No, you look like the monkey."

"Oh, you think this thing I'm wearing is fuzzier than your chest? Please. You look like you're wearing a sweater!"

iChocolate/i, Elizabeth reminded herself. iIt'll all be worth it once we get the chocolate./i

--4

She laughed into his mouth as he pressed her against the wall of the storage closet. Something clattered to the floor. "John."

He hummed but didn't stop kissing her.

"John," she tried again, her arms reflexively lifting as he pulled her shirt over her head.

"Elizabeth," he answered, removing his own shirt before diving back in toward her lips.

"We don't really have time for this," she protested halfheartedly, digging her fingers into his hips and pulling him closer.

"Then we'll have to be speedy." He kissed along her neck. "I can be speedy."

She tilted her head and grinned. "I know."

"Hey now."

"You're the one that said it."

He continued to kiss down her chest as his he fumbled for the button of her pants. Elizabeth's hands trailed up his back and played with the short hairs at the base of his neck.

"Really," she continued, "we don't have time for this."

"Well, then you shouldn't have made that comment about speed, because now I'm going to take it slow." He slipped a finger into her underwear. "Painfully slow."

It was too dark to see, but she knew exactly what expression he was wearing.

Elizabeth pulled John up for a kiss and decided to give up. There were things in life that couldn't be turned down. John Sheppard offering ithat/i was one of them.

He grinned. "I thought you said –"

"Oh, shut up."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She heard the alarm just as she slipped her hands into the waistband of his boxers. The curse that echoed in the small room was in chorus.

"iDr. Weir, we have an unscheduled offworld activation./i"

She tapped her earpiece. "IDC?"

"iEarth, Ma'am./i"

John handed her a pile of clothes and she started to pull them on. "I'll be right there." She disconnected and John pressed his lips to hers.

"You're rethinking that mainland vacation, aren't you?"

"Yes. Definitely, yes."

He kissed her again. "I knew you'd change your mind eventually."

She pulled the shirt over her head and buttoned her pants. "Well, at least we didn't get far enough that I'm going to have to worry about sex hair."

"That's not much of a bright side."

"I'll see you in the control room in a few minutes." She waived her hand over the sensor and the door slid open. She blinked as she stepped into the hall and almost crashed right into Rodney.

"Elizabeth! Just the person I was looking for."

She regained her balance as he thrust his datapad at her, completely unfazed. "Look at these calculations. I itold/i you Radek was wrong."

"In a minute, Rodney. The SGC just called."

"Excellent." He tapped the screen. "Colonel Carter will want to see this too."

She nodded and started toward the control room.

"Uh, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Rodney?"

He scrunched up his face and gestured toward her. "You, ah, you might want to change your shirt first. I imagine that Sheppard is stranded in that storage closet with nothing but your uniform and a cranky disposition."

--5

The door slid open and John stepped into his room, the weight of the day causing his shoulders to droop. He brushed a hand across his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to clear his head.

"Rodney's slipping," Elizabeth said, looking up from her laptop. She was propped up on his bed with papers strewn across the mattress. "His 'this will just take a minute' usually lasts closer to three hours. You were only gone for two."

"Really?" he asked in disbelief. "It wasn't five? I could have sworn it was five."

She shook her head and grinned as he crossed toward her.

"It didn't feel like five to you?" he pressed, dropping gently onto the bed beside her.

"You're right, it did." Elizabeth frowned dramatically. "Time seems to drag on when I'm without you – I'd forgotten."

John rolled his eyes as he reached for her laptop. "You're not very convincing."

"Hey," she complained as he pulled the machine out from under her still typing hands. "I'm not done with that."

"You are," he insisted, placing it on the table beside the bed. "It's time to stop working."

This time her frown was real. "John, I have to finish reviewing –"

"Come on," he interrupted, leaning in and dropping a kiss on her cheek, "don't you think it's time for a break?" He continued to trail kisses along her jaw and began to work his way down her neck, knowing full well that when he hit her collar bone she'd cave.

"John." She tried one more halfhearted protest before tilting her head to allow him better access.

He leaned in closer and his hand slid down her side, pausing when it reached her hips. He crooked a finger in the waistband of her pants and ran it slowly along to the fly, gently scraping her soft skin along the way. As soon as he reached his destination he paused and looked up.

"Elizabeth," he said, eyes trailing to his hands and then back up to meet her gaze, "these are my pants."

She winced. "Mine don't, ah," she shrugged one shoulder, "they don't fit."

His eyes lit up excitedly. "Really?"

"Well, I'm not wearing them for the fashion statement," she rejoined dryly.

He ignored her dig and instead focused all of his attention on sliding the hem of her shirt up to bare her stomach. She was right.

"Hey, little one," he whispered, leaning down to the bulge of her stomach. "You're making your mommy chubby."

He flinched when Elizabeth swatted him.

John blinked innocently. "Did I say chubby? I meant sexy." He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. "Incredibly sexy."


End file.
